Watcher
by Lonely Parasol
Summary: She watches. She waits. No one sees her, no one hears her footsteps - No one knows. It’s as though she does not even exist... on the first night of the Games Foxface observes her fellow tributes from the shadows, waiting for her chance to strike...


A/N - after looking through some of the stories for Hunger Games, I noticed a distinct lack of ones for Foxface, so here's one more dedicated in honor of her memory...

Disclaimer - no I don't own Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins is who you're thinking of...

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Watcher

She watches. She waits. No one sees her, no one hears her footsteps. No one smells the metallic scent that fills her nostrils, no one can taste the warm drop of sweat that she licks from her moistened lips. No one _knows_. It's as though she does not even exist.

They do not sense her approach – but doesn't all prey shiver in fear when their heads are turned? Does it ever cross any of their minds that with one misstep, one fall sending them crashing into the underbrush, that a knife will be thrown and their short time in the world will have ended?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Even now, with her backside pressed against a spindly aspen tree, her lithe body shaded by the lush green undergrowth she felt it – the ever ascetic sense of unease that had plagued her from the moment she was called forward the day of the Reaping. The icy tingles shot up her spine and spread down past her toes, fortifying her tired mind.

Not a single night had come to pass for them in the arena. Still, the Careers were gearing up for a night of manslaughter, and were taking everything they thought would be useful for a night of _articulate eliminations_. Everything from prepackaged food to extra blankets to the crudest of weapons went into their packs. No water, no medicine, no physical aid but the pointed spears and blunt axes most could hardly pull from their sheaths. They dressed to impress – and the odds were ever in their favor.

Nearly everyone in the games feared these savages. Everyone knew the odds were stacked against them – the precarious arrangement of their lives not unlike a tower of cards. Intricate, fragile, and threatened by the lightest winds. For any one of them, the kiss of death lingered just above the flesh, waiting in silent vigil for the opportune moment to strike.

Her fingers stroked the tip of her blade in anticipation. Tonight the hunters would become the hunted. Tonight, those still standing would embark on the path of fate's intention. No one was safe from judgment.

The cannons had fired earlier that evening, the deathtoll higher than it would rise on any other day in the Games. Eleven young lives were claimed over the span of only a few hours. _Eleven dead…Thirteen tributes standing… _

Her eyes moved with the group away from their camp and into the forest. One of them – the pretty, seductive girl from District 1 - turned her head to where Foxface was crouched. Her platinum blonde tresses flashed unnaturally in the light of the new moon. Her luminous face sparkled with the makeup for which she was named – Glimmer. The veela's depthless eyes met hers for a brief moment - then she tilted her head, facing the open sky, and there was no doubt every camera caught the vindictive, wicked sneer that twisted her rosy lips.

The vulgar, audacious nature of her challenge made Foxface seethe in fury. Something warm and violent rose in her chest, the burst flooding her body with stolen energy.

Only when she stood from her place among the bracken, arching her stiff spine and taking in a lungful of fresh air did she make the discovery – never in her short life had she really, truly _hated_ something as much as that beastly creature. _Glimmer_…

_Beware, immoral fool. You time is coming. I am not the only one who despises you, who wants your head. Maybe the lucky one will serve it to the Capitol on a silver platter made from the finest china. Something cold, inanimate and beautiful – just like you. _She glowered, her forest green eyes watching the retreating party.

It was on that damnable night that Foxface made her promise. She vowed first to never morph into the condescending, vile animal the arena brought forth in some tributes – she thought herself better. And even if she could not prevail…then at least the true Victor would be someone as passionate, as intelligent and caring as she. Someone strong-willed – and manipulative - enough to make it out alive.

_Someone like _**me**_… _

Somewhere high above her, a mockingjay cries.

Fin

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A/N - inspired by my mild disgust for Glimmer and the story The Clever One by everyoneismisunderstood

also to everyone who truly enjoys Foxface and her manipulative personality hehe...

Warning - reviews are not for the faint of heart...so press the light green letters if yah dare ^_^

- Lux


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